Twelve Years Today
by TsundereQueenDS
Summary: Twelve years today was the last time I saw Elsa smiling at me. Twelve years tomorrow, the last time I saw her.


**Twelve Years Today**

Twelve years today was the last time I saw Elsa smiling at me. Twelve years tomorrow, the last time I saw her.

If I think about her for too long, the tips of my fingers go numb, and I'm not sure if they're boiling hot or freezing cold. If I keep thinking about her, it spreads up my arm. The next moment, it's creeping up my toes, slithering along my calves, past my knees, up my thighs. I know at that point I should stop thinking about her, but I don't, because I'm locked in the bathroom where no one can stop me. Because they do stop me. I can't say her name to anyone anymore without being told not to, because it's not healthy, they say. I haven't seen Elsa for twelve years. I don't know who she is. This vision I've created of her in my mind, it's fictitious, fantastical, fanciful.

Fake.

If I still think of Elsa once all my limbs have gone numb, it seeps from my joints to my heart and my lungs, and I don't mind the numbness of my heart. It's usually like that, anyway, because a funny thing happens when you cry. You cry and cry and keep crying until, eventually, you forget why you were crying, and then the tears stop, leaving you with a piercing headache. And then you remember why you were crying, but you can't cry anymore. Your heart has gone numb now, you see, and you know you should be sad but it's just too hard to be sad anymore. And then you shut down. Usually I sleep, but not always, because, other times, she's there.

My lungs have turned to ice or fire or whatever this numbness might be, and it stops for a moment there. And in that moment, I see her. She's standing in front of me now, and I just stare at her, because she's not smiling. She's just standing there, staring at me, and I can't cry anymore, so I speak.

"I'm sad," is all I have to tell her, and she looks at me still, quiet. They tell me that this isn't safe, that it isn't her, and, by God, I know it isn't her, but it's the closest thing I've got. I don't know who she is. I don't know what she looks like anymore. This Elsa I see in front of me is nothing by a desperate delusion, a fragment of my shattering consciousness as I cling to a sister whose existence I sometimes question.

_"I don't want to make you sad, Anna."_

When she speaks back, my eyes are closed, and I've curled my knees up to my chest on the toilet seat, my face hidden between them. I don't know if she opens her mouth to speak. I don't know if she's smiling when she speaks.

Twelve years today was the last time I saw Elsa smiling at me.

"I don't know if you're real," I murmur, but I don't mean the Elsa before me. I know this Elsa isn't real, even if everyone else thinks I don't. Elsa, that sister I once loved, is the one I have these guilty thoughts about. Maybe the reason I haven't seen her for twelve years is because she isn't real. Maybe she never was real. Maybe that one time I thought I heard her speak was just my imagination, and that's why everyone looks at me with such worried eyes when I mention her. But this Elsa can't tell me the answer, because she isn't real.

_"Only you can know,"_ she tells me, and I hug tighter into myself, because how can I know? That door hasn't opened for twelve years now. It's been twelve years since I've seen her smile. Twelve years tomorrow was the last time I saw her. How am I supposed to know if she's real?

"Anna?" There's a call outside the door, but not directly outside. They've realized I'm missing, but the numbness has started creeping up my neck, swallowing my throat. Even if I want to tell them where I am, I can't. I can barely speak these last words to that Elsa before me as the numbness starts moving upward, onward, and taking hold of my thoughts.

"I don't know if I love you."

That's my last thought, because I haven't seen Elsa for twelve years. I know I should love her. I'm supposed to love her. But how do you love someone who you can barely remember, with little more than a single smile in your memory to remember her? Little more than a fragment to convince yourself that she's real, that you're not just crazy and clinging to the memory of someone who never existed while they keep you locked up in this castle so you can't hurt yourself or anyone around you?

Elsa disappears when the numbness conquers me, and I forget who I am. I'm sitting there, quiet, as more cries come from outside, and I know they're calling for me, but am I me? Am I really the one they're looking for? Who is Anna? Who is Elsa? And I'm too numb to wonder that for long, too numb to think of anything. I barely notice as they locate me, as I'm lifted from my seat on the toilet and taken to the bed, where I stare vacantly at the ceiling while they rush over me.

The cold, the heat, leaves my head first, and I'm able to remember. It leaves faster than it came, but it still pauses there, down my throat. Slowly, it dissipates from my heart, my lungs, and finds its way out of my legs. It leaves my arms, but it stays on my fingertips, because her name is on my tongue. I don't say it, of course, because it's almost taboo. Instead, I think it, and with my heart no longer numb, I start to cry and cry again, softly at first, but it grows stronger and stronger as I become desperate for that numbness again, aching for the tranquility of forgetfulness. Nobody knows how to heal me. Nobody knows how to make it better. Even I don't know, but I do know that that smile is in my mind, that the craving for my sister, who may or may not exist, who I may or may not love, won't leave me alone, even when I'm numb, and I just want to see her smile.

Twelve years today was the last time I saw Elsa smiling at me. Twelve years tomorrow, the last time I saw her. And tomorrow, I won't succumb to the numbness, because I can be stronger than that. Tomorrow, I'll smile and laugh for everyone I've worried today. Tomorrow, I'll knock on her door, and I'll ask her that same question I do every year. Tomorrow, I'll listen in silence for that lack of reply, and I'll go about my day like I'm not slowly dying inside.

Twelve years tomorrow, I'll be twelve years broken.

_Author's Note: Just a short drabble I made as a thank you to my Anna for helping me out of a bad day. It's supposed to be Elsanna but I suppose I didn't do too well at that. Hopefully it's enjoyable anyway! Thanks for reading!_


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